


the winner takes it all

by deadbrave



Series: the adventures of dallas dixon & matt meir [3]
Category: The Pacific (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi, canonical character death is for the most part ignored, timeline slightly fucked
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:54:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28060491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadbrave/pseuds/deadbrave
Summary: Matt’s ears were still ringing when a group of Japanese soldiers burst from the treeline, shouting at the top of their lungs. Leckie and Chuckler opened up on them quicker than Matt even realized their presence, eyes wide as he watched the single remaining enemy be teased and shot at like an animal sent to slaughter. Matt couldn’t watch--it didn’t matter if he was to be berated by his fellow soldiers, there was no way he was going to watch them dangle death in front of this man like his life was worthless. He lifted his rifle, aim sure and true as it directed at the man’s head, but before he could fire the echo of a handgun went off and the man sunk into the water, lifeless.
Relationships: Bill "Hoosier" Smith/Original Male Character(s), Robert Leckie/Original Female Character(s)
Series: the adventures of dallas dixon & matt meir [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1997509





	1. Legacy Part One

**Author's Note:**

> the time we thotted it up in the south pacific.  
> we are going to blatantly ignore the segregated, sexist, homophobic, and transphobic nature of the military of the time period while respecting the history because we, a bisexual woman of color and a gay trans man want to vibe with our stinky war boys.
> 
> accompanying playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4cv5cxjT39dJjczQWzyvU0 si=7NsHEpmeR3yQqdm4IE15NQ

Dallas Dixon had always had a certain amount of respect for the military. Though she didn’t always agree with what their country was fighting for, it was ingrained in her to support those that went to wage war for the wealthy that ran the country. Nearly two and a half decades before, her father had been drafted to fight in the Great War, and how ironic it had been for him to survive something so horrific only to die after he returned home from the trenches and caught the tail end of the Spanish Flu pandemic. Though Dallas’ mother had caught ill as well, only her father passed, which was a blessing as well as a curse because at the time, Dallas had yet to be born and if her mother had died she wouldn’t have been. She had never met her father because of this, but while he was at the front, and while he’d been bedridden with the Spanish Flu, Davis Dixon had written letters. So many letters to an unborn child that had never been certain, but that he loved more than the world itself nonetheless. These were Dallas’ most favorite possessions, and something she kept on her person at all times, even when she'd joined the Women’s Auxiliary Corps. 

Darla Dixon had been a single mother raising two small children but had succeeded in rearing the most educated, thoughtful, and skilled kids that one could, even in Austin, which was one of the more educated and liberal places in Texas. With things that Darla had no knowledge of and couldn’t teach Dallas, Dayton stepped in. One of the skills her big brother helped her learn just happened to be anything mechanical. Cars, electricity, all things technical in nature, Dallas excelled at due to her extremely logical and practical brain. This was a skill that certainly was used in the war effort to avoid being sent overseas, but because of how much Dallas idolized her father, there was just no fighting the urge to enlist in the WAC. Though it wasn’t front line shit like the men were doing, it was good enough for Dallas and a respectable way to honor her father’s legacy. 

Matthew Meir wasn’t some big city kid. Salem wasn’t exactly a small town, but he lived out in the boonies away from most of the population on his family’s farm. He was raised mostly by his older brother, Jonathan, as his parents were often busy with farmwork or attending some conference or another in the city. Jon taught Matt how to shoot a firearm, basic self-defense, how to take care of all the animals on the farm, and even taught him some shit that they refused to teach him in school. Even when Matt came out, Jonathan, and his parents, Joyce and Joseph, were very supportive of their son and the man he was becoming. When news of another world war broke out, Matthew did not hesitate to enlist in the marines. He would be able to send money home to his family, which was a bonus since they were always busting their ass to make ends meet; Jonathon did not enlist and was instead drafted into the Army at the first wave of conscription as an able-bodied young man. It broke Matt’s heart to be separated from his family like he was going to be, but he knew what he had to do to honor his ancestors and to protect what he cared about most. 

Boot camp was hell, to say the least. Matt knew it was for the best, to have any sort of civilian attitudes beaten out of him with aggressive training regimes and the shouting of orders mixed with derogatory declarations, but the shit was still draining, especially in that he was absolutely alone in this. It wasn’t that he couldn’t befriend any of the boys he was bunking with, they were all just massive assholes and Matt refused to, knowing that when they were sorted into different marine outfits and shipped out to the South Pacific it wouldn’t matter anyway. 

_Your soul may belong to Jesus but your ass belongs to the Marines._ The sentence had been barked at Matt so many times now that he could only roll his eyes as he headed up the steps of the transport ship to get some air above deck. Yes, he understood that they had a stupid meeting in ten minutes, no he didn’t need to be reminded that his ass ‘belonged’ to the military. It wasn’t like his soul belonged to Jesus, anyway, ‘cause this dumb ass Commanding Officer apparently wasn’t aware that Jews existed and didn’t believe that Jesus was the messiah. A buffoon, not that Matt would say it to his face. 

The young marine leaned against the railing of the ship, chin cradled in his hands as he stared out at the gently rolling waves of the ocean. Matt hated being on boats but had reluctantly accepted this being part of his life since he realized that he would be shipped out to the South Pacific, sea sickness be damned. It was all he could do to escape topside whenever nausea rose particularly grisly within him, hoping that he wouldn’t vomit over the side. It would be embarrassing, honestly, and whoever saw him would tease him relentlessly, he was sure. 

A commotion broke Matt out of his reverie and he quickly turned as he heard the loud obnoxious tones of some Marine and the irritated reply of what had to be a woman. But of course, what was life if a man wasn’t harassing a woman, especially a woman of color who was obviously clothed in the garb of a member of WAC? Matt rolled up his sleeves like he was straight out of a cartoon, approaching the pair with anger already filling his veins. He stepped in between the man and the woman, shoving at the marine’s chest to get him to back up out of her space. “Hey, man, step back. There’s no need to get in the lady’s face. Didn’t your mama raise you better?” 

“That’s what I’ve been questioning, actually. Just because I’m a black woman does not mean that you can be a disrespectful shrimp dick bitch. I earned this uniform just as much as you did.” For her part, Dallas wasn’t taking any shit from the man and it was very admirable. Matt could feel a bit of pride rising in his chest. 

That only seemed to piss the marine off more, though Matt shoved him again when he tried to retort and come at the woman. Seriously, where did this guy get off? “Get away from her before I beat your ass and tell your CO that you were abusing a member of WAC. You don’t deserve to call yourself a marine if you’re behaving like this, you’re dishonoring the uniform.” Matt stood stalwart and protective, arms crossed across his chest as he stared down the other man, unafraid to take him on, even if he was far bigger than him. There was plenty of anger laden into a small form, thank you very much. The man finally decided that whatever he’d been intending on doing wasn’t worth it and stormed off, taking his small dick energy with him. Matt sighed and relaxed, turning to Dallas with a small smile. 

“I promise not all of us are like that knucklehead. I’m Matt, it’s nice to meet you.” Matt offered his hand to the woman, pleased to find that her handshake was as firm as his own. 

“Dallas Dixon. I’m glad I’m not the only person around here without a pea brain.” That was all it took for the duo to become fast friends--see, Matt knew it would be worth it to wait until he was shipped out to befriend anyone, as Dallas was so far the only person he could stand to speak to, although a few of the guys in his mandated company seemed pleasant enough, if not a little obnoxious. To be fair, a lot of marines, or perhaps just cis men in general, were extremely obnoxious. 

Though they were forced to separate once orders were given to return to one’s company and prepare to board the AmTracks, Matt and Dallas assured one another that they would meet up on the island. It was bound to happen anyway, how big could these damned islands be anyway? Matt boarded an Amtrack with half of his company, packed in like sardines as nausea returned in full strength. He fought the urge to haul himself up the side of the Amtrack and retch up whatever food he might have left within his body, knowing damn well that if he peeked his head over the side, he would make a vulnerable and easy target for the opposition waiting for them on the island. Even though it was only mere minutes of white-knuckled anxiety, it felt like it took hours for the Amtrack to reach the beach, and when it finally landed and the front door dropped, Matt was ready to race into the fray, primed for battle only to realize that the only people on the beach were other marines, lounging about as if they’d been there for quite some time. Sighing in relief, Matt dropped his shoulders and headed out onto the sand, hiking his rifle up to his shoulder and finding a spot as far away from the rest of the men as he could, settling against a log, sipping on the water from his canteen in the hopes that it would calm his stomach. 

Dallas had a much easier go of it, heading out to the beach with the rest of the essential personnel instead of the Marines, less cramped and weaponless. They were also told that there were no immediate threats, so even though they must remain vigilant as it was still a war zone, Dallas was not quaking in her boots as the men had been. As soon as she’d landed and been given orders to stand by, Dallas headed off in search of Matt, eager to have finally found some company that she could stand. She found the marine curled up against a log on his lonesome, tucked into a book, _Native Son_. At least he had some semblance of taste. She tapped his shoulder as she sat beside him, opting to perch atop the log, smiling down at her new friend. “I heard you guys didn’t know the landing was going to be peaceful. You must’ve been terrified.” 

“Damn near puked and shit myself, I’ll admit. I didn’t think that our first landing was going to be so easy, honestly. I hadn’t been trained for that.” Matt tucked a bookmark between the pages he’d been reading and set the book aside, resting his chin in his palm so he could more easily gaze up at his new friend. Alas, before he could continue the conversation, a man with unruly curls approached with a group of sweaty men, snatching the book from its resting place and flipping through its pages with his greasy fingertips. Matt’s lips pursed into a disgruntled frown as he cast his eyes around to look at the lot. 

“Interesting choice. I didn’t know anyone else on this island could read,” The curly-haired man stated before he handed the book back to Matt, deciding that he would join the duo and subsequently invite his friends with him. 

“Technically basic reading skills is one of the requirements to be in the Marines, but I suppose I know what you mean with all these knuckleheads,” Matt replied, settling back against the log, defensive, partially shielding Dallas with his body. “Who are you and this obviously charming group of gentlemen?” 

“I’m Leckie, and these jokers here are Chuckler, Runner, Phillips, Hoosier, and Gibson. You might want to get to know us since we’re in the same company and all.” Leckie grinned, and it was endearing, no matter how irritated Matt was currently. 

“I think we’ll reserve that decision until we know you’re not a bunch of morons,” Dallas replied, wit as sharp as ever. It only made Leckie’s smile widen, and that’s when Dallas knew she was in trouble. 

“Hey, no one ever said we weren’t morons. We’re just your best option for companionship.”


	2. Legacy Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> if not now, then when?

Matt had grown up in a small city, and there wasn’t any thick jungle like this there, that was for certain. There were forests, with impossibly tall pine trees, flaky birches; underbrush that tickled your ankles as you stomped your way through, poison ivy that branded your skin like fire, but this was something entirely different. The march was slow and arduous, as meticulous as necessary, narrow coconut trees swaying, fabricating shadows before Matt that made his heart jump every time his eyes fell to the grass. The heat was oppressive, and Matt could scarcely catch a breath while he sucked in humid air, beads of sweat rolling down his sun-kissed skin. Soldiers were provided Red Vet Pet, but it was thick and unpleasant and there wasn’t enough to go around, especially considering that Matt’s skin was nearly iridescent, it was so pale. 

The men passed by a few trenches, old and well fortified with lumber but abandoned recently; bowls of rice deserted, blankets thrown haphazardly on cots, bits and pieces of uniform pitched about. When they paused in their parade to offer the officers a moment to acclimate and decide if their current direction was correct, Matt took in the overwhelming nature that surrounded them, beautiful, however eerily silent and foreboding. Even the birds and little critters that might be expected to make noise weren’t present, or, if they were, they were inaudible. When Corrigan and who Matt dubbed Captain Subtle because he didn't care to learn his name decided which way to go, the men resumed their movements. 

After a couple of hours, Matt had begun to assume that there weren’t any Japanese people here at all; that this was some sort of ruse to get the Marines all in one place and launch an attack by aircraft or artillery shelling. The bazooka strapped to his shoulder became an unwelcome pressure and without a break or having actually achieved anything as they journeyed around the island, Matt was getting agitated. He’d never been so on edge in all of his life and he just wanted to get this, whatever it was, over with, by either dying himself or facing the supposed enemy in battle. Matt had never been a particularly patient person, so this was especially grating. 

Night fell soon enough and with it came a downpour of rain, a much welcome respite to the burning heat that had already scalded Matt’s fair skin, a permanent redness dusted across the height of his nose and the rise of his cheekbones. Currently, he was squeezed into an impossibly small and certainly muddy foxhole with Phillips, who had tried to volunteer for the first watch and was waved off within a second. The kid was just that; a fucking kid, almost eighteen but Matt was already protective over him and his bright, joyful aura. He’d need more rest than Matt, who was used to getting less than five hours a night thanks to working on his family’s farm. Phillips looked absurdly young in his sleep; it was then that Matt realized he’d probably do anything for this kid, and that that was highly problematic when the only thing he should be thinking about was keeping himself alive. 

It was peaceful, for a time, the only sound the occasional snore from Leckie and Chuckler’s foxhole and the rain until there was a shout of “Take Cover!” and the accompanying gunfire which jolted Phillips out of his sleep and had Matt’s hands clenched white-knuckled around his rifle. After a long moment of endless rounds flying through the air, the order came to cease fire and everyone who had been firing (not including the pair in this foxhole) stopped. The quiet that had been so enjoyable before now was thick with tension, and Matt felt suffocated, fear flooding through his body as easily as blood. Something wasn’t right. 

The following morning, after Matt had forgone any sleep at all (he didn’t feel right waking Phillips when it’d been so hard for him to return to sleep), he realized why. They’d shot the Corpsman. Lewis, Matt thought passively, as he stared down at the lifeless corpse on the ground. He was only a boy, too, young and eager, slaughtered by his own companions for taking a piss. Matt couldn’t look away. 

“He went to take a piss. Somebody opened up.” Stone informed them unhelpfully while watching a group of men dig a grave and stuffing a stick of gum into his gob. 

“Did he say the password?” Runner asked. Did it matter? They were all so jumpy that they had killed a man, nay,  _ a boy _ before he’d been given a chance to speak. Matt swallowed hard, gaze falling on Hoosier, who sat stiff-backed as he scrubbed at his rifle, a lit cigarette resting between loose lips. 

“I don’t know. Let’s start walking. We’re moving to the top of the ridge.” And that was that to Stone, apparently, as he set off in the direction of the treeline. Matt looked at Phillips, who just sat and stared at Lewis, cradled in the arms of the duo of Marines who lifted his body and placed it in the grave. 

“C’mon, Sidney. Don’t dwell on it.” Matt offered Phillips a hand to help him up and gave his shoulder a firm squeeze before falling in line with their commanding officer. 

Despite their first venture into combat being a mistake, the men had been overly confident when they’d watched fires blaze in the harbor below that evening. While Chuckler had been optimistic, unease had bile burning at the base of Matt’s throat. And for good reason, it seemed, for when they made it to the airfield the following morning, the Navy was gone and all that remained were hunks of metal and debris littering the waves. So much for optimism. 

Matt had been perfectly content to sit in his own in the foxhole, thank you very much, but the clowns of How company decided that no, reading was not necessary when there was alcohol and companionship to be had. Matt had tried his best to decidedly ignore the annoying boys but had been thwarted from the chapter he had been immersed in when Hoosier plucked the book out of his hold with mud-caked fingers and tucked it into his lap. Matt could only blink in absolute confusion before glaring at the other man. “C’mon, Cupid, why are you reading when you could be drinkin’ and starin’ at this handsome face?” 

Matt huffed and opened his mouth, prepared to snap back before the nickname he’d been called finally registered in his brain. “Cupid? Fuck off, it’s not my fault that I’m sunburned.” The marine crossed his arms and pouted, which only caused Hoosier to laugh. Fuckin’ Hoosier. 

The only thing that could brighten Matt out of his sour mood was the appearance of Dallas, who was coated in grease but grinning at the group nonetheless. Matt instantly waved his friend over, forcing the mechanic to squeeze in between him and Phillips, who was pleased just to be included. Sidney Phillips was a literal Golden Retriever, okay? Chuckler held out a dusty bottle to Dallas. 

“You want some? It’s Jap wine left behind. It’s made out of donkey piss, but it’s not bad.” Yes, that sounded very appealing, Chuckler. 

“The Jap navy is on the horizon, Dixon. If not now, then when?” Leckie’s gaze was just shy of friendly, but he did have a point. Matt scrunched his nose in displeasure but Dallas took the bottle like a champ, likely thirsty from all her hard work as the boys sat on their ass and awaited more disappointing news. 

“If you can’t fight ‘em drunk, don’t fight ‘em at all,” Hoosier stated as he took a healthy drag from his cigarette, blowing the smoke in Matt’s direction, which only earned him another glare. 

“What are you doing here, anyway, Dal?” Phillips asked, coughing after his own swig of the wine. It smelled unappealing enough that Matt just passed the bottle back to Chuckler instead of having any himself. 

“Won’t be here for long. They called me down here to fix up some CO’s jeep. Corrigan was trying to usher me out, but I couldn’t leave without saying hello.” Dallas tucked a stray curl behind her ear and laughed when Leckie offered the bottle to her once more. Another gulp wouldn’t hurt anything, even if the stale taste of cigarettes lingered on the rim. “Alright, I’ve gotta go. Good luck out there, boys. I hear you’ve got a shit storm comin’.” Dallas saluted the group before heading out, jogging to her own vehicle. 

“That’s a damn fine woman you’ve got there, Meir,” Leckie commented as he stole the bottle from Hoosier and downed the rest of its contents, ignoring Runner’s complaints. 

Matt balked, then, reached for a coconut that he’d kicked away from himself a while ago, throwing it hard as he could at Leckie’s chest. It was satisfying enough to see him cough. “First off, I think it’s pretty obvious that I’m gay, but second of all, if you dare lay a finger on my friend I’m going to break your hand.” It wasn’t the most realistic of threats given that it was clear to Matt that there was already... _ something _ ...between Dallas and Leckie, but a warning was good enough. Ain’t no one out here breaking Dallas Dixon’s heart, not on Matt’s watch. Not on her watch either, but double the trouble is always best. 

The sun began to fade, and with it, the unrest returned. It was another sleepless night for Matt, who hadn’t partaken in the libations, even though that certainly would’ve relived at least a modicum of the anxiety he was feeling. The fact that they’d still yet to see any member of the opposing force was more threatening than facing them, and moreso, being surrounded by numerous Japanese warships by morning was something to be wary of. 

Around midday, How company reached what was dubbed Alligator Creek by the commanding officers, though Matt was saddened at the realization that there were no actual alligators residing in the water, despite its name. While the mortar and the machine gun squad were directed to dig in along the bank so they could keep an eye on the other side, Hoosier and Matt were tasked with the placement of the barbed wire fence along their position. 

“You know, you still haven’t returned my book to me,” Matt said after a long moment of working in silence, hissing when he accidentally snagged one of his fingers on the sharp metal. 

“You’ll get it back when you start givin’ me the proper attention.” 

“You’re lucky I give you any attention with that sort of attitude. Unless you’re Japanese and pointing a gun at me, I’m not liable to give you shit.” 

Alligator Creek may not have had alligators, but it did have an ambush in the early hours of the morning. Matt had actually been asleep this time and had been jolted awake by Sidney slapping his thigh to get his attention. He couldn’t see a damn thing, even with the light of the heated bullets whizzing through the air like miniature fireworks, but shot in the general direction that everyone else was, hoping that he was hitting something, head empty solely aside from the repeating fire of the machine gun reverberating around his skull. 

Matt didn’t even realize it was morning until the smell of coffee floated to his nostrils and made his already upset stomach pitch angrily. His rifle was still clutched in his hands, mouth dry as his gaze scoured over the beach. The sand was littered with bodies posed in unnatural positions, lifeless eyes staring back at Matt. The Japanese were their enemy--that was what Matt had been taught in Boot, that’s what had been ingrained in him for months of his life, and what had been rebuilt over and over again during the march across the island. Captain Subtle, who during the evening had just about lost his mind and hid in his foxhole at the first sound of gunfire, never failed to remind the men of the fact that their enemy was inhuman, brutal, and cruel. To Matt, they just seemed to be like the rest of them. Sure, they had their differences but they were just human beings forced to fight for their country, too. In all honestly, they were probably more alike than they were different. However, that sort of logic wouldn’t do well within the war machine, so Matthew locked those thoughts away in his brain in an attempt to retain some semblance of sanity. 

Even though there were orders to resupply the line, Matthew couldn’t stop staring at the bodies, overwhelmed at the sight, the smell, and the knowledge that he had killed a number of those people himself. A part of him acknowledged voices speaking in the foxhole next to him, either in awe or shock at the sight that lay before them. A line of Corpsmen and privates began to sift through the piles, likely looking for survivors to gather intel from. Once a survivor was found, a pair of Corpsman reached to help him up only to be caught in a suicidal grenade blast for their effort. Matt’s ears were still ringing when a group of Japanese soldiers burst from the treeline, shouting at the top of their lungs. Leckie and Chuckler opened up on them quicker than Matt even realized their presence, eyes wide as he watched the single remaining enemy be teased and shot at like an animal sent to slaughter. Matt couldn’t watch--it didn’t matter if he was to be berated by his fellow soldiers, there was no way he was going to watch them dangle death in front of this man like his life was worthless. He lifted his rifle, aim sure and true as it directed at the man’s head, but before he could fire the echo of a handgun went off and the man sunk into the water, lifeless. 

Matt looked over to the foxhole beside him to see Leckie standing, smoking gun in his hand, features contorted in an expression of misery and mercy. They made eye contact briefly and Matthew nodded in thanks, knowing that though compassion had been beaten out of them in Boot, it was still an admirable trait, despite the bemoaning that followed from the other men. Matt’s respect for Leckie, and the admiration of his strength, was at a new level. Perhaps it was okay that he seemed to have taken to Dallas. 

After a very uplifting casualty count with Lieutenant Corrigan featuring the ingenious but very stupid looking adaptation to the rotting corpse smell of Hoosier sticking cigarettes up his nose and Chuckler being promoted to Corporal, How Company looted the bodies and took a well deserved night of rest on the beach. Matt was wrapped up impossibly tight in his blanket, staring blankly in front of him as he listened to Leckie scribble a letter, as he often did most nights, brows furrowed in concentration. Who was Leckie writing to with such urgency? Why did he write like they were running out of time? It was only a matter of time, wasn’t it, until they, too, died? Until they were the ones lying lifeless on the beach--lives, and deaths both meaningless?


	3. Guadalcanal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> starving boys shouldn't be picky & we all acknowledge that runner is the most annoying man alive.

Matt had never been so hungry in his entire life. Even when things were bleak back home and it didn’t look like his family would have enough food to survive the month, they always found a way to manage, scrounge up something that they’d forgotten, or pick some herbs and flora out in the forest. Matt’s father had an excellent knowledge of local plant life and its uses, Jonathan knew how to hunt, worst came to worse (Matt ate that guilty enough, and usually regurgitated it as his body had grown unused to eating meat). Point was, they found a way to make it to the next month every time. It wasn’t the same here. Matt didn’t know what was edible, aside from coconuts, and even if there was edible vegetation, there was no knowing if it was poisoned by the enemy. The rations were few and far between if they could even be called rations. Rotten, moldy, downright ancient--the best of them were saved for the Doggies, even though the Marines were being the bullet sponges for the military. Perhaps that was why--they wouldn’t last long enough for their hunger to matter, would they? 

When Hoosier offered to go on a supply run, aka bother the quartermaster, Matt jumped at the chance for a distraction from the deep and aching pain in his stomach. Though Hoosier still hadn’t been able to get on Matt’s good side yet, not from lack of effort, there were worse companions in the jungle, and at the very least he was amusing. 

“I’m surprised you wanted to come along. Usually, you’re the fuddy-duddy of How.” That wasn’t the best way to start off, Hoos, but you’ll get a pass.  _ For now _ . Matt’s hungry. 

Matt sent a glare Hoosier’s way but there was no heat behind it. “Beats sitting around and throwing a pity party. Moaning about being hungry won’t get us food, and if I go with you there’s a massive chance that your antics will distract the Quartermaster enough that I can nab something really good.  _ If _ there’s anything good to be had.” This was a long shot, but sometimes officers received special rations for holidays, so perhaps there’d been a bit of hoarding going on. Nepotism was a hell of a drug. 

“You’re different from them. I don’t understand why you volunteered to be in the Marines of all things, Matty, you don’t belong here.” From anyone else, Matt would be primed to assume that the words were an insult, but in this case, he could tell that they were genuine. Curious. 

Matt shrugged. “Didn’t think there was any use staying home when they’d draft me anyway, and at least this way I got to pick my poison. Be with the best of the best.” Though most of the time, it felt like the lot of them were lost little kids fumbling their way through a war that they were underprepared for. 

“I suppose there’s logic in that,” Hoosier pursed his lips, gaze lingering on the side of Matt’s features for too long to be comfortable. His cheeks grew hot under the inspection, and, to avoid confronting the feelings that were simmering in his chest, Matt shoved at Hoosier’s shoulder, gently, before heading into the Quartermaster’s tent. 

They’d been victorious, in the grand scheme of things, at least in getting food, which was something their company so desperately needed. If what Matt and Hoosier carried back to their foxhole was an excuse for food, that was still up for debate. To the Quartermaster it was, so it would do for the moment. Hopefully, they’d get fresh rations soon. A military could only starve its men long enough before they’d have a mutiny on their hands. 

“Supper’s on, supper’s on,” Hoosier announced as the duo ducked and entered the foxhole, aged burlap sacks in hand. 

“Got anything good?” Chuckler asked hopefully, though the look on Matt’s face told him all he needed to know on that front. 

“What are those?” Runner questioned, tone dubious. 

“Army rations. From 1918.” Matt replied, pulling some hardtack from his own sack and tossing it to Leckie. He didn’t look very appreciative. Matt couldn’t fault him. 

“Quartermaster over in Dog Company claims they’re edible,” Hoosier supplied, though didn’t sound very certain of his own words. He handed blocks of the thick crackers to Runner and Chuckler before heading deeper into the foxhole, quickly followed by Matt who tucked himself up beside Leckie, pulling some Hardtack out for himself. Matt had eaten Hardtack once before when his Grandmother made a batch for him to try. Even fresh, it hadn’t been appealing or held any taste at all. Grammy told him soldiers in the Civil War usually ate it with a slab of fatty, salted beef. 

Runner lifted the block to his mouth, attempting to take a bite which sounded incredibly painful and didn’t seem to get him anywhere. He looked to Hoosier for an explanation. 

“After you suck on them for an hour or two,” Hoosier appeared to be amused by Runner’s upset. 

Chuckler was not having the same problem, chewing loud and rather obnoxiously. “This all you could find?” 

“You fuckin’ forage next time,” Matt grumbled, throwing the sack of Hardtack at Chuckler’s chest, dropping his own ration into Leckie’s lap, ignoring the growing, distracting pain in his stomach. Leckie was equally uninterested in the crackers, which he placed next to him on his blanket, picking up his pencil so he could focus on the cursed letters he was obsessed with writing. 

“Hey, who ya writing to, Leckie?” Runner asked in an attempt to ease the tension. “Is it a broad?” Leckie spun his pencil between his fingers, brows arched as he stared Runner down. Matt was used to seeing Leckie annoyed, but even this was a new expression on him. "Ah, c’mon, Leckie. Read it. I’d do it for you.” 

Leckie knew that there was no winning this. If Runner wanted entertainment, he’d get it one way or another, and he certainly wanted Runner to shut up. He sighed, “Dear Vera,” 

“I knew it! It’s a broad.” 

“‘Dear Vera, it’s raining. I’m entertaining Runner by reading this letter. Can’t wait to see you and ever so slowly strip you of your…’ You don’t need to hear that part.” Leckie was playing with Runner, and the kid was eating that shit up. 

“Oh, that’s precisely what I need to hear.” 

“Tell her how handsome I am,” Chuckler interjected, making Matt scoff and hide a laugh behind his hand. God, these boys were dumb. 

“I’m gonna tell her the truth. We’ve been swallowed by the jungle and five thousand Japs waiting to kill us.” Leckie’s features resumed their darkness. The weight of the war returned to their shoulders, heightened by their hunger and the truth of their existence. Thunder rumbled in the distance, accompanying the constant rain in their depressing soundtrack. Hoosier met Matt’s gaze for a moment and he felt bare, vulnerable; like Hoosier could read every emotion he’d ever felt. Suddenly, Hoosier broke eye contact, fiddling with a block of Hardtack as he stared down Leckie. 

“Hey, thanks for brightening the mood,” It was lighthearted but accusatory, nonetheless. 

“Oh, I do what I can,” Leckie replied, as though it was a recycled retort to a conversation he and Hoosier had had many a time. 

The following day, Matt’s mood had remained soured, so even though they’d gotten word that there was finally going to be fresh food cooked up and waiting at the canteen, he’d declined to go with the other guys from How Company. He stood by himself awkwardly in line, rifle hiked up his shoulder, gaze on the ground. 

“Matty!” Matt perked up at the sound of his name from a voice he recognized all too well by now. Dallas jogged up to the line, ignoring the complaints of men after she sent a glare their way, a German Shepard hot on her heels. Matt arched a brow, looking between Dallas and the large dog. 

“Where did you get a dog?” 

“Oh, Bear? He just sorta found me while I was fixin’ up a jeep and he won’t leave me alone. Very needy. Can’t wait ‘till the MPs find out I have him. I’m sure it’ll be a whole thing.” Dallas looked down at the pup, grinning. It was the happiest Matt had ever seen her, so rules be damned, he wasn’t going to bitch about it. 

“Well, he seems perfectly polite. Do y’all have much food at the CP? I’m so starving that I don’t even care what this shit is, I’ll eat as much as they let me.” Matt changed the subject, hunger a constant on the back of his mind. 

“Not much, but more than you guys. I’ve tried to sneak some out to you, but keep getting caught. Stupid MP’s...they don’t deserve this angel.” Dallas gave Bear a good scratch behind the ear, and the pup responded enthusiastically. The line moved forward and the trio was finally in sight of the signpost of meal options.  _ Rice without Beef. Rice without Chicken. Rice without Shrimp _ . Well, that didn’t seem too bad. Matt actually liked rice. Lack of meat was not a problem for the Marine, though the other men seemed to be disgruntled as they grumbled under their breath. 

“That’s okay, me and Hoos got some Hardtack yesterday. Leckie and I didn’t eat it, but it was an effort put toward our nutrition nonetheless. We get fresh food today anyway.” As fresh as counted in the military, which obviously wasn’t going to be too damn fresh. 

“You and Hoos, huh?” Dallas wiggled her eyebrows as Matt scoffed, looking at her like she had twenty fucking heads. The line moved forward, Matt’s stomach grumbled as the smell of cooked rice-filled his nostrils. 

“There’s nothing going on between me and Hoosier. Like you’re any better! Though I have to tell you, we were teasing Leckie yesterday about these damn letters that he never stops writing...turns out he’s writing to some woman. Vera.” The line moved forward, Matt was so close to the food that he could already taste it on his tongue. Flavorless, but nutrition. 

“Maybe it’s his sister. Maybe he was lyin’ to get y’all off his back. God knows you are one nosey bunch. I bet it was Runner.” Dallas knew full well just how damn annoying Runner could be, she had hope that Leckie wouldn’t play with her feelings like that. Finally, they were at the front of the line. Matt held out his tin to the cook, eager as the man plopped a single spoonful of maggoty rice onto the metal. Matt’s stomach churned. The maggots squirmed through the lumpy grain, Matt looked up at the cook incredulously. 

“Think of it as meat,” Was his lackluster reply. 

“That’s fuckin’ disgusting,” Dallas shivered. Matt handed his portion to the man in front of him and moved away from the canopy with barely concealed anger. Dallas put a hand on his shoulder, Bear sat beside her, tail wagging, oblivious to the conflict going on. “Let’s go for a drive, Matty. Get some fresh air.” 


	4. guadalcanal part two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I mean, what the hell rhymes with Guadalcanal?

It was clear that only one thing that would calm Matthew’s rising temper, and that was an actual amount of nutrition. The saner and logical part of his brain begged him to return to the group’s foxhole and munch on some Hardtack, ignoring how disgusting and flavorless it was, but Matt was stubborn and that stubbornness would likely be the death of him if someone didn’t shoot him first. Dallas hadn’t known Matt for too long, but even she could read the signs that her friend was close to his breaking point, and if she didn’t think of something fast...there was no way that this was going to end well. Luckily for everyone in How Company, Dallas had intel that doggies were landing on the beach soon and supplies would be proceeding their arrival, which meant that they were mostly unguarded. Left in the open. Up for grabs, primarily, and no one in the Marines was a stranger to stealing from the Army. It was almost part of the initiation process.

Matt seemed to settle at least, as he and Dallas cruised down a sand road, ignoring the whistles of men they came across walking on the fringes. Although Matt was distracted by the wind in his hair and how it perfectly cooled his badly sunburnt skin, there were too many interruptions to ignore. “Are they still bugging you, Dal?” 

“Yeah, but I’m used to it. Men think they can do whatever they want without consequences, and because I’m not white, there usually aren’t. My complaints would amount to nothin’, and it’s not worth getting into fights about when I could be easily outnumbered.” Usually, Dallas had no problem busting the asses of white men who thought they could harass her, but this was not a friendly territory, and she was wary of what could result. “It is what it is. I move around enough that I’m never near the same bunch for long, except for when I come and bother you clowns.” 

Dallas’ tone remained lighthearted, but Matt couldn’t help the furrow in his brows. Sexism and misogyny was nothing new to him--he’d been born the disadvantaged sex, after all, but the blatant disregard for respect made him hot under the collar. The only thing stopping him from hopping out of the jeep and beating the shit out of the next person who harassed Dallas was the fact that he was near fainting, otherwise, it’d be over for those fools, court-martial be damned. 

Though the location they were traveling to remained elusive to Matthew, it became clear as soon as Dallas pulled up behind a grove of trees and parked that the intentions here were less than golden. Bear remained in the jeep while Matt gave Dallas a look, but followed her through the brush anyway, brow arched as they watched Army men sift through a supply drop. Lucky bastards. “So, what exactly are we doing here?” 

“Stealin’ you some food, Matty.” Dallas grinned triumphantly as air raid sirens sounded in the distance. The men dropped what they were doing and scrambled from the beach, eyes lifted toward the heavens as bombers flew overhead. “See, Matt? The Army don’t know the Japs bomb the airfield, but not the beach.” Dallas reached over to ruffle the man’s hair, which caused quite the grumble in response before she took precious steps forward. “Stay low, get greedy. Let’s go. C’mon!” 

Dallas grabbed Matt’s elbow and dragged him into the clearing with her as the doggies abandoned the supplies, leaving them perfectly vulnerable to the duo and the mass of marines that suddenly appeared out of the woodwork to snatch up whatever they could get their hands on. Dallas and Matthew headed straight for boxes stamped with RATIONS, popping them open with Matt’s knife and pulling out cans of fruit, vegetables, crackers, anything that seemed appealing. Before too long, the siren cut out and MPs swarmed on the thieving marines. 

“Time to go!” Matt announced, dashing toward their hidden getaway vehicle with his arms loaded up with his loot. After dumping the food in the back seats, Dallas peeled away from the scene of the crime, laughing as they left the MPs in their dust--as they deserved. She hadn’t felt so free in such a long time, and Matt couldn’t help but smile at his friend, even within his sour mood. 

With a wave and a grin, Dallas dropped Matthew off as close as she could get to his foxhole before making her escape with her portion of food. Chasing down a jeep with a certain number assigned to it was far easier than chasing down individual men walking, and one did not want to get caught by MPs, even if they were bastards who didn’t deserve a thing. Matt hopped into the dirt pile beside Hoosier, dropping a few cans into his lap generously before tossing one to Chuckler. “You were right, the doggies do get the good shit.” 

Matt took only a moment to allow his heart its strangled, hopeful beat at the fact that Hoosier knocked his shoulder against his in what could only be assumed as thanks before his hunger took over and he was forced to pop a can of cherries open and start gulping as though his life depended on it. Sweet, sticky syrup coated his fingers, but Matt ignored all sensation in favor of swallowing down the entire can in a minute flat. Runner groaned from where he sat over a log, likely shitting his brains out, jealousy in his gaze. “Fuckin’ lucky you don’t have the runs.” 

“Better to starve than shit yourself.” Matt gasped as he pulled himself free of the can, throwing it to the side, letting out a soft, pleased noise as he settled back. Finally, his stomach didn’t feel as though it were about to revolt at any moment. Leckie bounded over to the group with a burlap sack thrown over his shoulder, cocky grin on his lips until he saw that Matt also had stolen shit from the army. 

“Anything happen while I was prospecting?” Leckie asked, throwing his boondockers into the foxhole with little ceremony. 

“Betty Hutton stopped by givin’ out blowjobs. What’d you get?” Hoosier replied thoughtlessly as he gorged himself on one of the proffered cans. 

Leckie grunted as he sat down beside Chuckler, digging into his sack. “Well, these are for me,” He pulled a box of cigars forth, “But if you’re nice and mind your manners, I might give you a puff. These are for you jokers,” Leckie tugged free cans of peaches, tossing one to each of his friends. “Traded the crackers with F Company.” 

“Hey, peaches!” Chuckler lifted his can to show Runner, who only snapped back in despair. 

“Peaches? I got the god damn runs and you had to get peaches.” Runner’s leg bounced in time with his furious, unwarranted words. 

“They were all out of cheese, Runner,” Leckie retorted as he cracked open his can of peaches, guzzling it down just as greedily as Matt had moments before. The other men in the foxhole followed suit, desperately starved for even a bit of something sweet. Leckie laughed as he took a breath, only seconds later, groan in discomfort. Little did the boys know that when starved stomachs were presented with food too quickly, they often got sick. Leckie shoved past Chuckler, falling to his knees nearby Runner, the contents of his stomach spilling from his lips. Chuckler ran to collect the can that Leckie dropped and save it from being wasted. Now, Runner finally seemed amused at the fact that someone’s luck may be worse than his. 

“Peaches. Your new name is peaches.” 

“Fuck you.” Leckie sputtered as he continued to gag. 

“You’ve got it, peaches.” Despite the discomfort the duo must’ve been feeling, they burst into laughter, which greatly disturbed Matt, who had averted his gaze in the hopes that he’d at least be able to block out the sight of what was going on if not the smell. “You’ve gotta write Vera about this.” The two dissolved into fits of laughter and gagging, and Matt could only stare in the opposite direction, thinking of how thrilling it was going to be to tell Dallas that her crush had been puking peaches out beside Runner’s exploding ass that afternoon. 

The night did not hold the same pleasures that the day had. While Matt had been asleep, curled albeit suspiciously close to Hoosier, Leckie and Runner fell into the foxhole as the distant booms of bombs grew closer, startling the men awake. Matt, in his sleepy daze, folded himself against Hoosier, seeking protection from the onslaught of bombs that shook the earth around them. It seemed as though the whole jungle was aflame, and Matt jammed his eyes shut, deafened by the shouts and curses of his friends and the explosions around them. Bear weaseled his way into Hoosier’s arms beside Matt, so he assumed that Dallas had made her way in as well, only to find in the light of the morning sun that he had been wrong. 

Matt crawled free of Hoosier’s iron-clad hold and forced himself out of the foxhole, ignoring the rescue operations happening around him in favor of searching for his friend. “Dallas! Hey, have you guys seen Dallas?” Matt was forlorn when he realized that no one had seen the mechanic and grew frantic as he searched the encampment for her. Surely she couldn’t be too far from Bear?

It took a good part of the morning and a lot of frantic squabbling, but Matthew managed to find Dallas sitting beside the burning wreckage of her jeep, head in her hands. He let out a sigh of relief. “Dallas! Fuck, thank God you’re okay. I looked for you everywhere!” Even though Dallas was rather reluctant to be affectionate, Matt wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly, if only for a few seconds. 

“Sorry, Matty, I hid under a tank and then I was lookin’ for Bear and all I could find was my stupid fuckin’ jeep on fire. Cheap piece of shit.” Dallas rubbed her eyes as Matt sat beside her, relieved, in turn, to see her friend safe and unharmed. “Glad to see that you made it through. Are the boys okay?” 

“Yeah, and Hoosier has Bear. He crawled into the foxhole last night...I thought you had, too.” If he didn’t, he’d have likely pulled some stupid ass stunt and gone looking for her amidst the hellfire raining down. Matt leaned back, relaxing his cramped spine against the long stretch of somehow survived tree trunk that was behind them. “You missed Leckie puking up a can of peaches last night. It was pretty visceral.” 

Dallas laughed, “I’m glad I did, I don’t want to see him like that. Leckie has to retain his perfect impression, otherwise, I’ll lose interest quickly.” 

How Company didn’t get much sleep the rest of their time on Guadalcanal. They were either bombed or were attacked by the light of flares. However horrific their trials on the damned island were, eventually, the violence peaked before peppering out, and soon enough, How Company was prepared to ship out, right before Christmas, which was pleasing to those who celebrated the holiday. The boys sat amongst crates of supplies on the beach, enjoying the brief moment of respite as they bathed in sunshine. Matt reclined on top of a rather uneven stack of crates, in close enough distance to run his fingertips through Bear’s fur as he watched Leckie once again scribble in his journal. Dallas had been forced to fix some asshole Captain’s jeep, so Matt was tasked with shielding Bear from MP detection and he had to amuse himself somehow. 

Runner approached the group with a box cradled under his arm and a Santa hat resting off-kilter on his scalp. “Say hi for me.” 

“What?” Leckie asked, jerked out of his thoughtful writings. 

“Vera. Tell her Runner says howdy-do.” Matt rolled his eyes as Runner stuffed something edible into his gob, speaking with his mouth full of crumbs. 

“It’s not a letter. It’s a poem.” Leckie folded the scrap of paper up, stuffing it between the remaining pages. “An ode. An epitaph in celebration of our glorious victory on Guadalcanal.” 

“Must be tough to write that poem,” Sidney voiced, his curly, dirty mop of hair falling partially into his eyes. “I mean, what the hell rhymes with Guadalcanal?” 

“How fucked are we now on Guadalcanal?” Hoosier started, tugging his marine issued blanket tighter around his shoulders. 

Corrigan approached the group with a grin, interrupting the lovely prose started by Hoosier. “Grab your gear and stand by to stand by. We’re finally leaving this shithole.” Well, that was good news, at least. He left just soon as he’d come, leaving a smattering of relieved laughter in his wake. 

True to Corrigan’s word, How Company loaded up onto Amtracks as they had when they’d begun their journey so many months ago, Matthew not even minding the fact that his sensitive skin was burning to a crisp under such direct sunlight. Though he and the rest of the boys struggled up the rope net with much more difficulty than they had climbing down it, at least members of the Navy were there to help, hovering like angels above them, bathed in white light as they reached for the boy’s toiling hands. 

Even though they were still starving, the idea of coffee that was promised in the gallery lured the group into the bowels of the ship, worse for wear as they stared down cooks cleaning up the mess from whatever the last meal had been. 

“No chow ‘till 1400. I’m sorry.” A cook replied automatically, robotically, as though he’d repeated it many times now. 

“Hey, we heard there was coffee,” Hoosier said, failing to hide the slight hint of desperation in his tone. 

“Coffee?” The man paused, sounding incredulous. “Shit, I can get you guys some coffee. Milk and sugar?” 

Minutes later, that sweet little segment of How Company was sat around a tiny mess table, coffee being poured into cups before them. Even Matt had elected to join them, although, in normal circumstances, he despised the bitter liquid. Each man reached for their cup with hunger, sipping at the coffee as though it was the ambrosia of the Gods. The cook couldn’t believe his eyes. “So how bad was it? Cause I heard it was bad.” 

The elation left the boys, leaving exhaustion in its wake. The men did not reply. The cook got the message and turned to resume his duties. 

“From who?” 

“What?” 

“I mean before you got here. Had you ever heard of this place?” Runner questioned. 

“Guadalcanal? Everybody’s heard of Guadalcanal and the 1st Marine Division. You guys are on the front page of every newspaper in America. You guys are heroes back home.” 

As they resumed their consumption of coffee, the boys didn’t feel much like heroes. The weight of war was bearing down on them with no relief. Heroes didn’t feel as broken as this, did they? 


	5. melbourne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> feelings? we don't know her. we only know naps and dogs in this chilis.

If there was anything that How Company had not been expecting upon their arrival, well, just about anywhere, it was a parade welcome. They’d just suffered through hell on earth, something that most people couldn’t imagine in even their darkest of nightmares. Yet here they were, astride a massive troopship, battered, broken, and exhausted from their experience on Guadalcanal. Matt had tucked himself successfully into Hoosier’s side, his entire form covered by Hoosier’s well-loved Marine issued wool blanket so he did not have to view the processions on the dock in front of them, though he could hear it and was mildly agitated at this fact. Dallas was somehow, we all question how, fast asleep with her head lolled against Leckie’s shoulder, even with the massive wave of sound across the water from them. Leckie continued to spare her glances, a small, genuine smile quirking his lips upward. 

Both Matthew and Dallas were forced to awaken from their mild semblance of rest, Matt being thrust into the light as Hoosier slung his blanket over his back with an apologetic expression, while Dallas was gently woken by Leckie. They marched down the plank from ship to dock in disorder and disarray, all in varying states of discomfort, frowns nearly etched permanently onto their features. Instead of enjoying the attention, they shirked from it, wary as their gazes fell upon another damn island, though at least this one was less claustrophobic and not everyone wanted to kill them where they stood. 

Once off the dock, the group was shuffled into a troop transport, again resting as best as each of them could. Runner dozed off and was practically in Chuckler’s lap, which Matt noted with bemusement. For someone who so mercilessly teased the man, they sure seemed friendly. Sidney had tucked up against Matthew’s side, the latter running careful fingers through a mop of blond curls, hoping to bring even an inkling of comfort to the boy he’d quickly assumed a brotherhood with. 

From the troop transports to a stadium, one could only assume for Cricket, but Matthew had never cared about sports to know this, and as such may be an unreliable narrator for such matters. The sunlight broke through thin clouds burning skin already reddened by the relentless skies over Guadalcanal, an untoward reminder of the joint trauma the Marines had just suffered through, too soon to be a distant memory. It was unwelcome, as their exhausted bones carried them up flights of stairs and into makeshift billets in the stands. One cot, a mattress, if you were lucky, a pillow, and a blanket. 

“It ain’t no Wrigley field,” Hoosier commented, which Matt supposed made some amount of sense; the adoration of a large sports stadium when one was from a small town in Indiana. They climbed stair after stair, shaking from pure exhaustion, only subsisting on adrenaline and shitty mess food. Everyone picked a bunk, throwing their shit onto it haphazardly and with little care, aside from the rifles, as no one wanted to get shot from a freak accident away from the war. What a shitty way to die. 

“Oh, to hell with this. I’m gonna sleep for a few days.” Hoosier kicked his pack to the end of his cot, crawling on his hands and knees until he was in a comfortable position, nestling down with his blanket pulled tight around his shoulders. 

“Better take a look at this,” Leckie warned, as the rest of the group followed his gaze, spotting a mass exitus of Marines from the stadium, the MPs uncaring as they swarmed past them and through the exits. “MPs are just giving up.” 

“Can they do that?” Phillips questioned, dazed, sleepy expression on his features. 

“Everyone’s going AWOL and no one’s stopping them? Oh, I’ve gotta be a part of this.” Leckie grinned mischievously, heading for the swelling crowd. 

“Well, alright,” Phillips joined him, always up for a good time. Chuckler and Runner quickly followed. Matt glanced toward Hoosier before meeting Dallas’ gaze. 

“Go on, Dal. I’m shit tired, could use some rest too.” While Matt was tired, the lure of Hoosier’s company was also very strong, and Dallas could read him like a book. 

“I’ll see ya later. Have a nice nap with your pal.” Dallas smirked, then took two steps at a time as she tried to follow in the boys’ footsteps. Matt gently shoved Hoosier’s shoulder so that he would move over--it wasn’t a wide cot, it was made for one, but Matt could care less. As soon as Hoosier cracked an eye open, grunted, and acquiesced, Matthew slid onto the cot beside him, nary an inch of space between them, curling up with his head stuffed into the warmth of Hoosier’s neck. Hoos wrapped the blanket over Matt, too, and soon enough the duo was cocooned in a safe space of their own making. It was the best sleep that Matthew had ever had. 

The rest of the group soon had claimed a public park after purchasing ice cream (they had accidentally gotten too many cones, as Chuckler hadn’t realized that Matthew and Hoosier were still back at the stadium sleeping), so Runner and Chuckler were double-fisting the delectable, frozen treats. 

“It’s like Saint Marks on Woodward.” Runner commented gaze cast toward the Heavens as the gentle toiling of Church bells rang through the busy streets of Melbourne. 

“All Saints on North Hermitage,” Chuckler replied in kind, ice cream spilling from the corner of his lips. 

“It’s as pure as every church bell that ever rang,” Leckie agreed, for once not being as cynical as he’d become through their time on Guadalcanal. Optimism was all that one could have when so far away from the brutality that they’d been subjected to for so long a time. 

The group soon found themselves in a bar, despite it being broad daylight, because who gave a shit about social rules when they’d suffered the horrors that they had? The boys were several drinks in and already very drunk, while Dallas was content with sipping her first drink and munching on proffered chips from the barkeep, amused at the squabbles that were being drugged up thanks to liquor loosening lips. 

“I’m sort of surprised that you’re eating fries, Dal. Don’tcha know that ladies are supposed to eat rabbit food? Where’s the salad, the cucumbers?” Leckie grinned, knowing that what he was saying was grounds for an argument, as he just wanted to rile the mechanic up. 

“When have I ever claimed to be a lady?” Dallas questioned, brow arched as she stared at Leckie over the rim of her glass, taste of vodka lingering in her nostrils. “Also, cucumbers are disgustin’. Their flavor is strong and hideous, it ruins everything that they touch.” 

Leckie scrunched his nose, pointing a lit cigarette at Dallas in the most accusatory of manors. “How can you hate cucumbers? They don’t taste like anything, and they are extremely hydrating. It’s like adding free, crunchy water to your diet.” 

“How can you say they taste like nothin’? They have a taste, and it is appalling. I question your tastes, Mister Leckie.” 

“As you should. I always enjoy things that are bad for me,” There were other implications behind his words, which Dallas would take as a challenge if she didn’t suddenly remember that she was supposed to check on Bear. 

Officers weren’t sure whether or not she would be allowed to bring her dog into their billets, and she was to report to an officer before 5 o’clock to see if this was doable. Unfortunately, Dallas hadn’t been so lucky in sneaking Bear past the officers once they’d climbed onto the troopship, so Bear was down in holding with ammunition and supplies with the other dogs, which grated against her better judgment, but there was nothing she could do about it until she followed the rules to the letter. If the officers determined that she couldn’t bring Bear into the billets...well, that would be a different issue which would be solved with violence and theft, possibly getting booted from the Marines. It would be worth it, for Bear, though perhaps a little foolish given all she had lost to get where she was. 

“Shit! Sorry, fellas, I’ve gotta get back to the stadium. I’ve got a pup to check on,” Dallas chucked a couple of bills down on their table before making her way out of the pub, double-checking her watch as she raced towards a trolley. Yeah, still 4:30. She had to hurry if she wanted to reclaim her pup or seek out the alternative. 

“Wait, Dal!” Leckie drunkenly stumbled after Dallas as she hopped aboard the trolley, swinging around the pole so that she could face her romantic interest with slight amusement. 

“Shouldn’t you be drinkin’ with your friends, Bob? I have places to be. I’m a busy woman, after all.” 

Leckie made it onto the trolley, though nearly fell off and back onto the street if it weren’t for Dallas’ nimble fingers wrapping around his shirt collar and dragging him back toward safety with a little smirk. “If I believed in God, I’d swear you were an angel.” He mused, a sloppy smile lighting up blue eyes as he leaned against the railing of the trolley awkwardly. Dallas couldn’t help but laugh. 

“I promise I ain’t no angel. Just a woman with a lotta grease under her fingernails and a familiarity with the military-industrial complex.” Truly, Dallas had been surrounded by reminders of war all her life, the letters from her father pressed into a pocket inside her jumpsuit; with her no matter the circumstances. 

“I would write poetry about you if I had the words,” Apparently, Leckie became loose-tongued when he consumed alcohol, and it was kind of cute, as equally as it was embarrassing. “I’ve written letters to you when out on the front.” 

“Oh, have you now?” Dallas replied, busying her fingertips with smoothing Leckie’s rumpled collar. “I haven’t gotten any.” 

“Never sent ‘em. Thought I’d die, so there wasn’t much point,” Leckie’s head bobbed and he swallowed hard, working tirelessly to find the right words. It was a strength and a weakness for the man who never seemed to shut up nor to draw up short. “But now you know that I like you. Maybe we can make the most of this leave. That way if we drown on the way over or I get shot by a Jap, you have no regrets.” 

It was a romantic notion, even if the futility of his commentary was worrying. “You aren’t goin’ to die, Leckie, and neither am I. It’s not in the cards.” Dallas sighed and dropped her hand from Leckie’s collar, fingertips brushing along the cloth covering his arm on the way down. “When we survive, I’d be happy to be pursued by you. However, unlike Matthew, I am reluctant to form romantic attachments just yet. One never knows what the future holds, and I’m scared that once we see combat through, that I will no longer be who I was before. I don’t want to burden someone with that, especially as someone as important to me as you.” 

Leckie was too drunk to truly understand the weight of what Dallas was saying, and in fact, was so drunk that he didn’t acknowledge anything that she stated aside from the fact that he was important to her. “So you’re saying I have a chance, after all, Miss Dixon?” 

Dallas sighed and shook her head. “You do, and if you keep up your persistence, it may weaken my resolve.” She gracefully stepped off the trolley and headed toward the entrance to the stadium, waving at Leckie as she went. “Have a good night, Robert.” Although thoughts of romance still lingered, the mechanic would have to focus on the task at hand: she would get her dog back come hell or high water. 

Turns out, the officers themselves were tired of the bullshit and wanted to be out on the town more than they cared to dole out any sort of discipline. Even though it was evident and clear that Bear was an MPs dog and that Dallas had someone stolen him, they couldn’t care less, especially since Dallas had the wherewithal to follow up with instructions and wanted the dog back more than she cared about the possible punishments to come to someone that stole from an MP. Bear was returned to Dallas, as long as she promised to keep him under control, which was simple since Bear was already quite loyal to her. 

The Marines naively believed that though they were still enlisted men, they would be allowed to sleep through the morning and enjoy their day much like they had the night before. Unfortunately for them, the MPs had humor and were itching to prank the hungover soldiers, at least those who were forced to behave more in sorts due to their station and weren’t around the men long enough to know how much hell would be raised because of this choice. Speakers were set up in the green of the stadium, bugler positioned in front of a microphone for maximum damage to eardrums. 

Matthew and Hoosier were still sound asleep in the single cot, curled together in a way that had greatly amused the drunken group when they returned, though both were too exhausted to wake from their slumber to notice the jokes being made at their expense. Dallas had slept with a companion as well; Bear’s fur was warm and soft, and, for mere moments before she was claimed by dreams, she thought that she was home again. It was comforting enough to have her forget some of what she’d seen, at least for the time being. 

Bear had sat up on the cot as soon as he noticed that men were assembling on the Cricket green, though they were too far away for him to deem a threat and start to bark. However, as soon as the bugle sounded, his barking shook Dallas from her slumber and had Matt groaning, covered his hands with his ears. Those who were hungover were having a more arduous and tortured experience, doing everything they could think of to cover their ears from the sound of music and a dog’s warning. Reluctantly, once the obnoxious noise had ceased, the men, in various states of undress were lined up in formation, barely awake or alive for it to matter. Corrigan stood in front of them, seemingly out of it himself, one eye shuttered to the bright sunlight. After a member of How Company collapsed on the spot, landing face-first in the grass, Corrigan sighed and waved them off, expression pinched and uncomfortable. “Company dismissed.” 


End file.
